


Like Mother, Like Son

by Rose_of_Pollux



Series: Inktober for Writers 2017 [26]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Don't mess with the Solos, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 16:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12511020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: In which Emory Partridge attempts to get revenge on Napoleon by kidnapping his mother--only to realize too late that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.





	Like Mother, Like Son

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt 26 of Inktober for Writers: Realization

Emory Partridge was convinced that this time, he would have Napoleon Solo surrender to him without hesitation. Kidnapping Illya had proven to have its problems—namely that the Russian was smarter and more agile than he was and would find ways to escape. Partridge knew that he had to use a bait that wouldn’t fight back, yet would still give Napoleon enough of a motivation to surrender.

As though by serendipity, Partridge found the perfect bait while watching the races at a casino racetrack. He had been counting his winnings as he heard something he had never expected to hear.

“And here are your winnings, Mrs. Solo.”

“Mrs. Solo…?” Partridge murmured, turning to look. He stared as he saw the woman accepting her money and placing it in her valise; she had black hair that was going gray, and her facial features were unmistakably the same as Napoleon’s. “Ahh, Mrs. Solo!”

She turned to him, arching her eyebrows in a way almost identical to the way Napoleon always did.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“Er, not formally,” Partridge said, putting on his usual air of quintessential gentleman. “But I know your son Napoleon very well. I must say, his resemblance to you is quite remarkable indeed.”

“Genetics will do that,” Cora intoned.

“…Even the wry wit is the same,” Partridge noted, with a forced smile. “Well, Mrs. Solo, it would appear to me that you are wandering about unescorted in this Devil’s Den—might I be permitted to escort you?”

“There really isn’t any need for you to put yourself through any trouble,” Cora replied. “I was about to leave anyway—my husband is looking after my dogs, and I think all of them are eagerly awaiting my return.”

“Of course, of course,” Partridge said. “Then will you allow me the honor of giving you a lift home? My chauffeur and I certainly wouldn’t mind, and it would be shame to see those winnings go for cab fare.”

Cora chuckled to herself.

“That’s true—I suppose you could say that the cab fare rates are highway robbery…”

_Good Lord, she even makes horrible puns like him…_

“…But I simply couldn’t take you out of your way,” Cora continued. “Perhaps another time?”

“I really must insist,” Partridge said. “This is no place for a lady!”

“You know, I’ve heard that so many times before during Prohibition,” Cora sighed. “I used to dress up as a man just to sneak in to casinos… I even had an alter-ego, Corrin Stroller…”

“Be that as it may, Madam, this place is filled with ne’er-do-wells who would have no qualms about injuring you for your money!” Partridge insisted. “No, no, no—I simply cannot allow it!”

Cora frowned, adjusting her earring as Partridge pushed her along outside to where his Rolls-Royce was waiting.

“You can place your valise in the boot,” Partridge said. “Just so that you can be assured that I shan’t try to pocket your money.”

“I wouldn’t have accused you of such a thing,” Cora insisted. “Really, I think you’re making too much of a fuss--”

“Nonsense, nonsense,” Partridge said, placing Cora’s bag in the trunk and then guiding her inside the car, sitting beside her. “Take the lady home,” he instructed to his chauffeur, and the man quickly drove off.

Cora took notice of the doors locking as they drove. She made no attempt at small talk as Partridge sat beside her, instead fingering the button on her blouse.

“You never did inquire my name, Mrs. Solo,” Partridge observed. “Or how I knew your son.”

“Napoleon makes friends very easily,” Cora said. “Of course, he also makes enemies just as easily. Now if you don’t mind, I would like to be dropped off at that bus stop right there…” She exhaled as the chauffeur sailed right past it.

“Please, Mrs. Solo, I give you my word as a gentleman that no harm will come to you,” Partridge said. “I shan’t lay a hand on you, nor will anyone in my employ do so. You see, your son has caused me a lot of trouble, and I merely need some leverage for when I next converse with him.”

“If it’s money you want, you can keep my winnings,” Cora said, clutching at her blouse button even more tightly.

“It isn’t about ransom,” Partridge said. “You don’t understand what your son has done to me, Mrs. Solo. I was once the ruler of a serfdom—the authority I had was one worthy of my birth! Your son dethroned me—led a small army of U.N.C.L.E. agents to depose me! And he humiliated me in front of my subjects…”

“I am sure it was nothing personal,” Cora said. “Napoleon isn’t like that. He just wants to help those who need it; perhaps your ‘subjects’ needed help that you were unable or unwilling to give them.”

“I will not try to justify those events to you; you will, undoubtedly, side with your son no matter what I say,” Partridge said. “But I will not soon forget the humiliation I felt. He infiltrated my staff—and, somehow, he managed to sneak a dagger under his uniform! I screened my house staff for weapons constantly; I cannot understand how he got it past my security!” He quietly fumed, glaring out the window. “I was making a grand speech to my subjects, telling them just how I would protect them from this U.N.C.L.E. invasion, and your son—just barely past the point where he could have been called a child—holds a dagger to my throat and announces that I’ve been deposed! And then he proceeds to have the audacity to exile me to the jungle!”

Cora didn’t say a word.

“So you see, Mrs. Solo, I have a score to settle—and you will help me even that score,” Partridge finished. “Once your son meets with me, you will be released, and he and I will continue our discussion.”

“I’m afraid there are three things that you didn’t take into consideration when orchestrating your plan,” Cora said, quietly.

“Oh? What are those?”

“First of all… Napoleon is _my_ son.”

Quick as a flash, she grabbed Partridge in a headlock and pulled her to him with her left arm; in her right arm, she produced a switchblade knife, which she momentarily held in front of Partridge’s line of vision so that he would see exactly what it was before moving her arm so that she could hold the blade to his neck.

“Who do you think _taught_ him that trick?” Cora scoffed. “Now tell your driver to pull over, right now.”

“Now… Now, Mrs. Solo, surely w-we can…”

“Pull over, Jeeves!” she barked, and the realization sunk in to Partridge that he was now the captive.

“Do as she says!” he howled.

“And you…” she hissed to Partridge, as the terrified chauffeur obeyed her. “Don’t move, and make sure your driver doesn’t move. If either of you moves, even an inch, I’ll go for the jugular.”

“I think you have made your demands quite clear, and they will be obeyed to the letter,” Partridge said. “Exactly how long do you intend for us to stay here?”

“Until Napoleon and Illya get here,” Cora said. “That’s the second thing you didn’t take into consideration—that they’ve set me up with earrings that double as trackers that I’m supposed to activate if I suspect that I am a target in a plot, and that they would have told me conceal a weapon on me.”

“And the third thing?” Partridge asked, sweating as the blade balanced delicately on his Adam’s apple.

“Do you mean to tell that after your time in the jungle, you didn’t learn never to threaten a mother’s offspring in front of her?” Cora asked.

“T-Touché, Madam…”

No one said another word until Napoleon’s convertible pulled up; Illya was driving, and Napoleon practically leaped from the passenger seat with his Special drawn without even opening the door. Illya put the car into park and backed him up, tranquilizing Partridge’s chauffeur as Napoleon grabbed Partridge and practically slammed him into the ground. Illya took it from there as Napoleon now helped Cora out of the car.

“Are you alright, Ma?” he asked, hugging her.

“Of course, Dear, of course,” she said. “One threat to his jugular, and he folded like an umbrella in a gale.”

“Nice touch, Mother,” Illya said, as he finished handcuffing Partridge. “Although, next time, go for the carotid arteries—they’ll bleed out much faster that way in case you need to deliver on your threat.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that for next time,” she said, as she now retrieved her valise.

“Ah, let’s just hope there won’t be a next time, hmm?” Napoleon asked.

Partridge mumbled something about Cora making Edith seem like a gentle soul.

“Who’s Edith?” Cora asked.

“His wife,” Napoleon said.

“She and this one tortured poor Napoleon on the rack, and made me watch,” Illya said, solemnly, as he stood back from Partridge. “Remember, Mother—the carotids!”

A flash of fear crossed Partridge’s face as a flash of rage crossed Cora’s.

“Ma, no--!” Napoleon exclaimed, holding her back.

Illya now knelt down to face the cowering Partridge as Napoleon struggled to calm Cora down.

“I _was_ going to tranquilize you,” he said. “But instead, I will have you in the backseat with Mother. It’s going to be a _long_ ride back to headquarters.” He smirked, devilishly. “I know I shall enjoy _every_ moment of it.”

The look of utter fear on the former squire’s face was something that Illya was going to relish for a long time to come.


End file.
